The Cliffs Poem by Minka Vanijs

My heart holds
secrets
from you that were once
oceans,
rolling out before us
into a vast horizon
of hope and possibility.

Now, they drip
drip
drip
echoing against the
iron armor
encasing my heart.

What cruel magician
cast this spell?
Pulling back the veil,
Oh happy protection
before my eyes!

Now, soft edges are ragged,
Blurred lines, firm and dark,
the composition altogether
brutal
naked
clear.

This transformation,
breaking the spell of impressionism (illusion?)
into realist
accuracy,
is a demon's art
disguised as
divinity.

There is no deliverance;
only winter landscape
barren trees
howling winds
and hungry beasts.
A thousand nights
of darkness
to traverse
until I might dare
release my armor
and rest my head,
once again,
upon a warm and certain
breast.

How I wish I could speak,
tell you the words I long for you to hear.
But you are magicked too-
Cursed with a deafness
conjured
to filter my voice through a
sieve of lies,
distorting
the truth.

So, I stand alone
upon the highest
promontory
atop the selfsame ocean
screaming
into the surf
against pelting rain
and biblical winds
hoping you will hear
my siren call-
wishing you could know
the depths of my despair.